


The Theory of A Rose (Edmond Dantes x Reader)

by xSukunas_Toy_Gojos_Bitchx



Series: 100 Days 100 Ways #100daysofoneshotschallenge [10]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied Relationships, Love, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSukunas_Toy_Gojos_Bitchx/pseuds/xSukunas_Toy_Gojos_Bitchx
Relationships: Edmond Dantès | Avenger/Reader
Series: 100 Days 100 Ways #100daysofoneshotschallenge [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775557
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	The Theory of A Rose (Edmond Dantes x Reader)

The gentle but continuous breeze that tries to gather my hair in its pagan dance was the perfect accompaniment to the motherly warmth the moon day sun provided as it brightened the cloudless sky of Paris’ mercantile district as Edmund and I enjoyed our free day. Having beaten the Nouveau France singularity, we were given time to wander its city streets the following day.

Tucked between a 1960’s family market and the industrial convenience of France from the year 2000, the community met efficiency in a unity of mercantilism that produced the epitome of perfection and quality while not sacrificing nostalgia and function.

Down each cobbled street and past, every naturally worn storefront gem-like colors created a meadow of tangible goods that dazzled the eye whole not overwhelming the budget. Though none of these things seemed to be points of interest worth giving a second thought to as far as Edmund was concerned, it was hard to know what depth of humanity stirred his tormented soul.

As the Count of Mo the Cristo, he had undergone suffering from the very beauties present all around him. Be they women or luxuries, each pinnacle of perfection told the story of a different lie or foreign struggle Edmund had been caged and beaten for trying to grasp.

Watching his every reaction, I saw no disdain or aversion to the things he within the market. If anything his blatant disregard was the only cloud on this otherwise beautiful day.

Attempting to improve his interest if not his mood, I jogged to the nearest flower booth whose gradient hues mesmerized me. Reaching down to gently cup a tulip, I brought my nose down to sniff before sending Edmund’s presence and turning to meet his assessing gaze.

“Edmund?” The curious tone in my voice earning me a scrunched, critical eye as thousands of hidden agendas played out behind the inflections of his name in his mind.“What is your favorite flower?”

I could tell by the relief in his sigh that he was grateful for the relatively innocent question. Seeing as it was my habit to tax his brain with views on politics, matters of the heart, and in-depth analysis of Art, it was refreshing to not have to journey down a road he wasn’t very keen on treading.

Placing his buckle on his lip he takes a moment to think, “Many think it is a carnation because that is the flower the women who visited my keep liked to see, but in truth, I find it such a common flower. Much like a girl blossoming into womanhood, it is beautiful and lush for so brief a time before wilting and losing its charm.”

Lowering his hand to the flower-filled stall, he plucked a single white rose not yet fully opened. “A rose on the other hand opens with such beauty and fragility as each petal expands outward that it captures the female heart to perfection as it’s beauty ripens with each expansion of its petals. It is as if it is accepting the warmth of the light it wishes to have sustained it in microcosmic increments.”

Here he releases a little magic into the stem encouraging the bud to expand with his will much like a woman would with his touch. “Staying fragrant and pristine it holds its appeal well past its prime so long as it is cherished and cared for. Shall that love ever betray it, however, much like a rose their life wilts and smothers in its own lifeless misery; the truest example of a bent woman.”

Reversing the flow of his magic, Edmund sucks it and the life out of the rose until it is bent and dead; it’s agony evident in its crookedness and falling petals.

Feeling cheeky bit also a little in awe, I broach the question hanging like a spider on its silk between us. “And how do you see me? Am I a commoners rose or am I a rose amongst a field of daisies?.”

He took far to long to think about the answer and with no expression on his face, it was impossible to ascertain even an inkling of what he would say.

“Truth be told, you are a rarity among flowers. Known as the Ghost Orchid for its haunting beauty and pure white complexion you remain unstable away from natural environments. You remain a beauty better left untamed and one who can be enjoyed as an extension of a larger existence.”

Taken aback by his honesty and the high esteem with which he seems to hold me, I stand there with wide eyes and open mouth as if so have suddenly become a Venus flytrap. Ignoring my discomfort, Edmund continues.

“Do you know why else I like roses?”

I shake my head with what little coordination I can muster.

“I like that once you smell a rose, see it’s beauty displayed in nature and in the confines of the home, and taste its scent in teas or in the skin, you never forget it. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet is true as Shakespeare said. No matter what you call it, much like a woman, you will never forget what it means to exist in its presence.”

Picking up another rose he pays for it before cutting off the stem with his pocket knife and attaching it to his lapel.

“There is also such meaning to a rose.Beyond its classical meaning it also symbolizes purity and is a reminder to cleanse the mind, it is unfolding wisdom and represents balance, and it also is a reminder of purity, clarity, and transparency of intent. All things women strive to be and fight against while Beijing g themselves behind an exquisite veil that humbled their objective.”

Turning towards me he offers me his arm. “There is no more complex flower I have found whose layers do not encapsulate the richness of humanity's greatest folly like a rose.”

Tucking my hand into the crook of his arm we walk down the bow golden streets as the sun begins to set on a false world so riddled with the contradiction that it makes the air thicker to breathe. 

“To be honest, I am glad you are not a rose, Master.”

Looking up at him curiously I can’t help but ask, “Why is that?”

Tapping my nose with his index finger to f his free hand he replies, “Because nothing is more common than the expected, an element even the rose can not overcome no matter how beautiful it is. Though. Queen among flowers, it falls into the same stereotypes as the rest, filed g men’s passion until both parties are consumed in a flame so hot it burns itself out.”

Squeezing my hand with his arm he continues. “I would much rather gaze on a rare beauty I cannot completely comprehend than enjoy the familiar beauty of a pleasure I have already become accustomed to. There are so many things to learn from and with a flower whose rarity and tenacity make it both the most demanding flower as well as the one needing the most protection.”

At this moment he tugs me down an alley before leaning against the stone wall of the nearest building as he pulls me against him.

“To be so strong and frail, rare and tangible, pure yet captivating. It is truly a rare bread that causes a man to humor your wins without agonizing over the validity of the request.” Placing his hand on my check he strokes the soft flesh with his thumb.

“What makes me glad you are not a flower is that my touch will not kill you like it does a flower.”

Tilting my head up, he brings his lips to mine gently. Our lips soon parting ways reluctantly as the worlds stop spinning for a brief moment.

I truly believe I will never forget that moment nor will I ever forget what a rose smells like for at that moment I learned the theory of the rose and the implications of love through the eyes of its madness.


End file.
